


heard me out of his holy hill

by betony



Category: First Draft of the Revolution-Emily Short (HTML5 game)
Genre: Alternate History, Epistolary, Five-Minute-Fandom, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 14:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5378177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betony/pseuds/betony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My dear mother:
	</p>
<p>You see I have reached Paris <strike> without</strike> with only the slightest difficulty. 
(Henri's bastard has his own tale to tell.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	heard me out of his holy hill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lesserstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesserstorm/gifts).



> If you are not familiar with this fandom, it is a very short (~10-15 minutes) interactive fiction game set in an alternative history pre-Revolution France with MAGIC! I very much recommend you take a few minutes to go and play it; in my opinion, it is well worth it.   
> Find it here!

_Paris, October 1788_

My dear mother: 

You see I have reached Paris ~~without~~ with only the slightest difficulty. I have stolen away to the room they have allotted me to write this for you; I knew you would worry otherwise. Good day, Mme. Durant, or perhaps M. LeClerc, spared from the schoolroom for once! Are you so kind as to read these words to my poor mother for me? May God bless you for it, and keep you safe in His hands. At the very least have all my earnest good wishes. 

Your fears are unworthy, Mother. Monseigneur my father has taken ~~very good~~ ~~adequate~~ me into his protection. Officially I am to serve as a ~~servant~~ apprentice of sorts but unofficially, Monseigneur assured me, I am his pride and joy. He asked kindly to be remembered to you. ~~Do not let your hopes fly too high, however—when I proposed that one day he and I might venture to Dauphine to see you, his lip curled and he turned away without a word~~

I beg your forgiveness. 

I did not write to you during my journey. I did not do so because my father’s wife sat rigid-backed on the opposite seat of the carriage every day and looked just above my right shoulder. She did not say a word to me, nor I to her, yet I know that had my hands betrayed me enough to reach for paper or ink or even the fine leather-bound book Fr. Gaspard bequeathed me as a farewell present, she would have known immediately. 

It pleases me to have her ~~and my father~~ think of me as an unlettered buffoon. ~~Fr Gaspard says~~ Only imagine their shock when they find what a clever gentleman you have raised. Why, then, they will have no choice but to bring you to Paris to join me, and would that not be pleasant? 

Dear heart, I hope you have been taking your medicines from the apothecary, and that Alain, that rogue, has not let the sheep get into the front gardens again. I pray your cough is improved, ~~and that you no longer shed any tears over~~. 

The hour grows late. My candle burns low. I will finish this letter soon. 

_Paris, October 1788_

What commotion! 

Today I made the acquaintance of the Comtesse d’Aunis, or as she whispered into ~~the shell of~~ my ear as she bent to kiss me on the cheek, my dear aunt Alise. ~~Monseigneur frowned to see this. What possible ill motives could he ascribe to me—or is it his own sister he mistrusts?~~. Something about her makes it all too clear that aunt she might be, but Comtesse she remains. 

~~“Your servant, my lady,” said I, and tried to kiss her hand. She held it at such an angle that my gallant action was impossible and instead I crouched into the most awkward of bows.~~

~~She stared, aghast, and burst out into a peal of laughter. “Marvelous!” she cried. “What honesty! Henri, I am enchanted: however did you breed such a specimen?”~~

~~Monseigneur said nothing in my defense. On the contrary, the corners of his own mouth crooked upwards, and he replied, “I crave nothing but your approval, my darling.”~~

I believe Monseigneur was pleased with the impression I made. 

He has started tutoring me in the basics of magic. Much of this I knew from Fr. Gaspard but it gives him pleasure to imagine he is the one to dispel my ignorance. ~~I nod my head as he drones on about the sovereignty of our blood, of its descent from Charlemagne and gods and demons alike. His eyes are dull when he speaks; he mentions nothing of the grace of God or the work of angels, nothing like Fr. Gaspard. I could not place my faith in him, even were he not~~. I am determined to excel in my lessons and bring honor to his name.

The commotion I describe follows because of this: Monseigneur is to have a great celebration to welcome his wife back from the countryside. Such marvels have been planned! Sweet ices transported from our mountains, fireworks, and a troupe of illusionists! Monseigneur frowns over the desserts, examines every last detail of the fireworks, supervises the illusionists himself. Nothing is too good for my father's wife. 

~~Needless to say, I am not to attend.~~

~~Do not take this to heart, Maman--~~

~~If he loves her so well, why did he send her away ?~~

Strangely, if there is one person who does not take to the excitement, it is the guest of honor herself. Whenever I see her, she boasts a pinched mouth as though about to complain of head-ache. ~~I find the feeling is entirely mutual~~. She looks much the same when the preparations for the fete. "Bah!" exclaimed the Comtesse when I inquired after this. "We've better things my lad, to concern ourselves with than the sensibilities of Saint Juliette!"

I find myself much in fellow-feeling with dear Aunt Alise

_Paris, November 1788_

All is lost. My father's wife has discovered me. I expect to be sent back by sunup. 

What happened was this: It was the night of the grand ball. I watched the guests arrive ~~from the bannister~~ \- what fine figures they made, with their jewels and jowls, brandishing their silver snuffboxes and spectacles! ~~\- until the senior footman noticed me and, frowning, waved me away.~~ The hallways were empty, the candles almost extinguished, and I thought I might go to my father's study ~~because he hoards his linked paper, damn his eyes!~~ to see if he plans to claim me as his own. It was some time later that I looked up from one of Monseigneur's letters to see her outlined in the doorway. In her finery, she shone as your hair does in the sunlight. 

She has never looked me in the eyes before. ~~Her eyes are almost as dark as the waters of the millpond, where so many children drowned--~~ She said: "You know better, I trust, than to think anything in this house goes unobserved?" 

~~I said: "I know this can be no surprise to you, so why the pretense?"~~

~~I said: "I know Monseigneur does not know everything of Fr. Gaspard, so why should he believe anything you say?"~~

~~I said: "I know nothing you say can make my father love me less than he already does, so what difference is to me?"~~

I said nothing. No more did she. In confusion I retreated to my room and took up this paper to make sense of my thoughts. 

Of all the princes and peacocks in this house, I swear I hate her the most. __

_Paris, November 1788_

Early this morning I went to church. I reasoned Monseigneur could hardly eject me from my house if I was not present, and besides my soul craved ~~power and passion, and in Fr. Gaspard's absence, the Almighty shall suffice~~ solitude. I sat in silence until the sun rose, and then, a silk-covered body slid into the pew beside me, took up a book, and began to read in a low feminine drone: "Lord, how many are my foes! How many rise against me! Many are saying of me, 'God will not deliver him.'" 

My lips twitched despite my best intentions; I said, "One can hardly expect Ahinoam to approve of Absalom." 

"Nor Michal Solomon," replied Juliette pleasantly, and at that, my mirth ceased. 

"Hardly," said I, more sharply than I had intended. "My father does not allow you out of his sight. It won't be long before he plants his heir in your belly." 

~~Crude? Regretfully so, but I tire of refinement~~. ~~To my disappointment~~ she took no offense at my words. 

"Perhaps," she told me, "but if you believe that lack of an heir is the only reason your father has to recall you to his side, you truly are the unread bumpkin you pretend to be." 

She rose, and I thought that was all, but she added: "I do not share Henri's distaste for religion, you know. Should you feel any further need to commune with the Almighty, I shall have the servants open the chapel in the townhouse. You need not go to so much trouble from now." She held her arm out imperiously, and all too late I realized she meant for me to take it and escort her home. 

~~She is too clever for me. I shall have to think of another excuse to leave the house~~

Well. Ahinoam might not think much of her stepson, but Absalom is of another mind entirely. 

_Paris, November 1788_

Today I accompanied Juliette for a walk. She suspects, I think, my restlessness with the city streets, with the endless gray boulevards, and the clatter of carriages in the streets--We went to the gardens in the midst of the city. For once I felt I could breathe in peace. 

_Paris, November 1788_

The Comtesse arrived for a visit--my heart plummeted--Juliette insisted that we must go to confession. The Comtesse sneered as we disappeared into the chapel together. I paid her no heed. 

In the morning Juliette had that same footman who treated me so badly bring me chocolate in bed. I rejoiced in his unhappiness to do it. I am no better than they. I understand this now, as she meant me to. 

_Paris, December 1788_

In confidence she admits she too still dreams of Fr. Gaspard: his eyes, his arms, that way he could make one believe that no one else existed in the world. Even now my gaze lingers over those of his approximate height and breadth in the marketplace, only to be disappointed every time--her words, not mine. 

~~It is nothing to be ashamed of~~

_Paris, December 1788_

Today I was presented to my Great-Aunt Josephine. I stumbled and blundered and neatly broke the harridan's wretched fan, stink as it did with decadent magic. The Comtesse's eyes narrowed with malice as she trilled her sympathies; and Monseigneur barked an apology on my behalf; and Juliette said nothing. But before I could despair of her, I heard her send a blunt sally towards the Comtesse, and though Aunt Alise rallied beautifully, it was worth it to see her composure shatter for a moment. 

I confess it is for Juliette I worry the most. 

You will have guessed by now that I will never send this letter. Hide it away with my things, perhaps, so that when the end comes ~~soon soon may it be soon~~ they might find it and send it to you. Not as a final comfort, but as a close, perhaps, to my life and what I meant to do with it. 

My father and aunt will deserve everything they receive, and you, my dear, will be safe in Dauphine, but Juliette? I hint to her as strongly as I dare, and still she pays it no heed. She means, I think, not to give this threat to her world even that recognition that might be her salvation.

And yet I ~~pray~~ believe she might surprise us all. She learned to play the game of living in my father's house, by the rules of his world - I do not doubt she will be able to play another game that follows. Perhaps one day, after I am gone--after they send this to you with the rest of my belongings, after the Royal Guard has confiscated and searched it--perhaps then she will come to Dauphine. Perhaps she will find you, and sit in the shade of our hill, as she did that first day; and you will dare this time to speak to her. Perhaps then, Mother, you might tell her-- 

Tell her what you will. You know my heart better than any other. Until that day, I have the honor to remain, 

Your loving son, 

David.

**Author's Note:**

> Juliette reads from Psalm 3, recited in the Catholic matins/morning prayer. Traditionally this is associated with King David's putting down the rebellion caused by his son Absalom, who Juliette and her stepson later refer to in their conversation.   
> I must apologize for taking considerable liberties with the story as presented. Dear wonderful Lesserstorm, who introduced me through your letter to this fantastic canon, I hope you don't mind!  
> Title after Psalm 3, unsurprisingly.


End file.
